Her Last Breath: The new gripping summer page-turner from the No 1 bestseller. Tracy Buchanan

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СКАЧАТЬ of money here, Estelle,’ her social worker had explained. ‘Don’t mess things up, this place could be good for you.’

      ‘It’s Stel.’

      Her social worker rolled her eyes. ‘Alright, Stel. But listen, this is the best placement we’ve had for you, even better than the first one. So behave.’

      The first one. Her social worker always held that up as the holy grail, better than the care home and the other unsuccessful foster placements. But it hadn’t exactly been wonderful. A run-down house with a huge garden. Three dogs and two sneery teenage girls. And then Julie and Pete, friendly enough faces but clearly in desperate need of money. Even at seven, Estelle noticed the mounting bills and scuffed wallpaper; the overheard arguments between the couple about money, making it even more obvious. She’d been placed in a box room that had obviously been home to other kids like her, scrawled messages on the walls not very effectively hidden by carefully placed cushions. She remembered curling up on the bottom bunk bed that first night, yearning to be back home with her parents despite what they’d done to her. At least her filthy childhood flat was familiar. The new place seemed alien to her, scary with the angry teenagers and barking dogs. She was quickly removed from there a month in after the couple split up, and she ended up at a tiny house with an older couple who kept telling her to ‘talk for god’s sake, child’ when all she wanted to do was sleep and wait until she was back with her parents.

      After that followed a succession of foster homes, some stints in care homes. She preferred the care homes at times, bumping into familiar faces, a semblance of independence. Just before she went to live with the Garlands, she fell in with a bad crowd at the care home: skipping school, drinking, kissing boys, the sorts of things a twelve-year-old shouldn’t be doing. Something inside her stopped her going too far though: placing that bottle down when her head swam too much; pushing the boy away when his fingers reached inside her waistband. It was like standing on the precipice and knowing that even though what greeted her at the bottom could be sweet oblivion, it would also mean no coming back. And there was an urge inside her to come back, instilled ironically by her dad’s boasts about what he could have been if he hadn’t injured himself as a young footballer. Every week in care would begin with Estelle wanting – needing – to do better. Head down at school, reading, writing, baking – she particularly liked baking. But then something would happen. A girl shoving her. A boy telling her she was a skank. A woman passing her on the street who looked like her mum. A missed visit by her parents. And she’d be at square one again. Bunking off school, drinking. In the end, the pool of foster parents willing to put up with her narrowed, especially when she accused one of abusing her – a stupid lie to get her placed elsewhere. So the time she spent in care homes in-between being with foster parents began to increase, and started to look like a permanent prospect.

      The Garlands were her last chance. But she’d messed that up too in the end, falling pregnant too, giving her child up.

      And what of that child? Had Poppy run away to give herself a chance at something; at finding her birth parents and maybe herself in the process? Estelle felt a pinch of guilt. There had been times over the years she’d considered tracking down the newborn she’d given up. But she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to search for her daughter until the girl turned eighteen. She hadn’t even known her name, for Christ’s sake. Autumn and Max had said giving her daughter a name might make Estelle form an attachment to her. She’d agreed numbly, just as she had to everything that day – too weak, too traumatised from what had happened to argue.

      How naïve she’d been, to think something as simple as giving a name to a child was what caused attachment. Those first few months after, no matter how hard she’d tried to forget, it was a knowledge, a bond that curdled inside her. But time had made it fade. And while there were days, weeks, when her mind would be dominated by the baby she’d given away, she felt sure, even now, that she’d done the right thing. What sort of life could she have provided for the girl?

      Estelle looked out of the window, shielding her eyes from the morning sun as she peered out at a Lillysands that had barely changed. She resisted the impulse to put her arm out of the window, just as she used to when Max would drive her up this very road in his bright red convertible.

      The town was dominated by a huge white cliff face, the pastel-coloured houses lining it painted pretty blues and pinks, yellows and greens, perfect postcard fodder. Along the bottom of the cliff was the town’s famous white beach and pretty marina, a plethora of shops and buildings sitting on cobbled stones across from it. And overlooking it all, Lady Lillysands as the locals called it, a huge hourglass shape that curved in from the cliff face, created from years of wind and rain. It looked like the side profile of a woman’s body, hence its name, and folklore had built up around it over the centuries, one of the reasons tourists flocked to Lillysands so regularly.

      As they drove further into town, Estelle noticed colourful posters stuck to walls and lamp posts, advertising the upcoming festival. It was an annual event held in May to celebrate the legend of Lady Lillysands. Lots of stalls, games, entertainment and fun.

      ‘They still hold the festival here?’ Estelle asked the taxi driver.

      ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘You’re not new to the place then?’

      ‘No, I used to live here a long time ago.’

      ‘In Seaview Terrace?’

      ‘Yes.’

      The taxi driver’s face darkened. He went quiet and focused on driving further up the cliffs, passing streets of small pastel-coloured houses. The farther up she got, the more people watched the car suspiciously. Tourists rarely ventured up here so it was unusual to see strangers in taxis this far up. The people of Lillysands didn’t take to strangers, unless they were tourists ploughing money into the town. And even they weren’t supposed to venture beyond the centre. That was why it felt so wonderful to have been accepted as Estelle was back then. As cold as Lillysands could be with strangers, it was irresistibly warm to those it knew and trusted.

      As the taxi reached the street where the Garlands lived, two terraced cottages came into view: one pretty blue cottage with a well-kept front garden, the other pink and long abandoned with boarded-up windows. The cottages weren’t officially part of Seaview Terrace, that started with the grander houses farther up the street.

      Estelle leaned forward as the car approached the cottages, gripping the taxi driver’s headrest. ‘Can you stop here? I can walk from here.’

      The driver came to a stop in front of the cottages and helped Estelle with her large bag as she handed him his money. He peered further up the road towards the Garlands’ mansion, a frown puckering his brow. ‘You take care, alright?’ he said.

      Estelle looked into his eyes. He seemed wary of Autumn and Max. But then Estelle remembered there had been jealousy in the town, the rich residents sometimes sneered at by the less well off.

      As the taxi drove off, Estelle didn’t go straight to the Garlands’ house, instead walking towards the pink cottage, memories accosting her of her foster sister Alice sitting cross-legged on the dusty floorboards, red hair dangling to her knees as she read a book; Aiden sitting on the windowsill, strumming his guitar as he looked out over the sea. And Estelle – or Stel as she was known then – her long brown hair a tangle around her shoulders, lying on the floor next to Alice, drumming her fingers to the music as she watched Aiden. She quickly peered into a window to double check it still wasn’t occupied, finding the same empty rooms and peeling wallpaper. Still empty, just as it had been when she’d been a teenager.

      Estelle’s fingertips glanced over the cottage’s bumpy walls as she walked around its side, heading towards the small garden СКАЧАТЬ